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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 






Shelf. 






UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





£ITMR1imiliWIII11IIHHt 




1 Lovu ir, 1 1.1 'V1-: II. 



THE OLD ARM-CHAIR 



V 



}l L I Z A C O O Iv 




ILLrsTUATIONS l;V 

MISS L. B. HUMPHREY AND OTHERS 



I50ST0X 

D. LOTHROP .^- COMPANY 

FRANKEIX AX]^ HAWLi;V STREETS 




f K ■ ^ 







Copyright, iS86, 
By ]). LoTHROi' & Co. 



THE OLD Aini-C:iIAIR. 

I love it, I love it ; niul wIkj sliall dare 

To chide me fur loving that old arm-chair ? 

I've cherished it long as a sainted prize; 

I've bedewed it with tears and embalmed it with sighs. 

'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart ; 

Not a tie will break, not a link will start. 

Would ye learn the spell. = — a mother sat there; 

And a sacred thing fs that old arm-chair. 



In childhood's hour I lingered near 

The hallowed seat with listening ear; 

And gentle words tliat mother would give, 

To fit me to die and teach me to live. 

She told me that shame would never betide. 

With truth tor m\- creed and God for my guide; 

She taught me to lisp my earliest ]irayer. 

As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. 



THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. 

T sat and watcliecl her many a day, 
When her e\e yrew dim and her locks were gray : 
And I ahiiost worshipped her when she smiled, 
And turned from her liible to bless her child. 
Years rolled on, but the last one sped — 
My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled ; 
I learned how much the heart could bear, 
When I saw her die in that old arm-chair. 



'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now 
With quivering breath and throbbing brow: 
'Twas tliere she nursed me, 'twas there she died ; 
And memory flows with lava tide. 
Say it is folly, and deem me weak 
^^'hile the scalding tears drop down mv cheek : 
I'uit I love it, I love it, and cannot tear 
My soul from a mother'^ old arm-chair. 



THE OLD ARMCHAIR. 



I love it, I love it, and who 

shall dare 
To chide me for lo\'ing that 

old arm-chair? 



I've cheribhecl it Ions: as a 

sainted prize ; 
I've bedewed it with tears and 

embalmed it with siorhs. 



'Tis bound by a thousand bands 

to my heart ; 
>s'ot a tit- will break, not a link 

will start. 
A\'ould ye learn the spell ? — a mother 

sat there ; 
And a sacred thing is that old 

arm-chair. 



In childhoocrs hour I lingered 

near 
The hallowed seat with listening 

ear ; 
And gentle words that mother 

would give, 
To fit me to die and teach 

me to live. 



Slie told me that sliamc would 

never betide, 
With trutli for my creed and 

God for my guide ; 



She taught mc to h'sp my 

earHest prayer, 
As I knelt beside that old 

arm-chair. 



I sat and watched her many 

a day, 
When her eye grew dim and her 

locks were gray ; 
And I ahnost worshipped her when 

she smiled. 
And turned from her Bible to bless 

her child. 



Years rolled on ; but the last one 

sped — 
My idol was shattered ; my eartli- 

star lied ; 



I learned how much the heart 

could bear, 
When I saw her die in that 

old ann-chair. 



'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze 

on it now 
With ouiverino; breath and 



throbbing brow: 




-^ s.,,^ r f J: ^ 



'Twas there she nursed me, t'was 

there slie died ; 
And Meniorv flows with lava 

tide. 




^\^ "^^^' 



Sa)' it is folly, and deem me 

weak, 
While the scalding tears drop down 

mv cheek : 
But I love it, I love it, and cannot 

tear 
My soul from a mother's old 

arm-chair. 



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